Page 73 of Nocte

Because that hurt. Worse than any fire or glowing orbs with the power to break bone. He left me and for a moment, I’d forgotten myself.

So I burrow my face into his shoulder now. I let him claim me as deeply as he wants to. I let him think…

I let him think that I’m his to corrupt. This game was always his from the start, not mine.

I’m not really the one in control.

But I am. Ihaveto be. I can’t let him leave me. At least not until…

I fulfill my heart’s desire, then he can go. Maybe. Maybe then he can go.

“Where are we?” I ask him, if only to distract from the cacophony of chaos playing out in my mind. Oh, how greedy I am in this open, mortal air. I don’t shy from him like I would in our old realm.

I hook my fingers around the back of his neck. Gently. Trembling, interlocking fingers—an embrace he could easily break without a second thought. I stare up at him, into those festering red eyes. I watch them glow as he feasts on me.

But then the flames fizzle out. He’s empty, staring down on me. Remembering what we are and where we are. It’s my fault.

I asked the wrong thing.

“Where you wanted to be,” he hisses, drawing away from me, lunging upright. His body is perfection, even in this room with peeling, yellow walls and beige flooring. Even here he is so beautiful. So dangerous. So deadly. The look in his eye claims as much. With one question, I have him enraged. “Get your fill of it, fae,” he snarls, fists clenched, eyes downcast. “You are in the mortal realm. Prepare to live out your pathetic hopes and dreams.”

He means those words to sting—and they do, but not for the reason he intends them too. It’s a reminder that this moment has a time limit. An end point.

I get what I want. He’s gotten what he craves.

The end. There isn’t any more to this sordid tale.

But I don’t want it to end. Not yet.

“Wait,” I tell him, my voice tight, throat heavy. “You have to take me to a museum.”

He has to. He has to. Then our deal will be sealed and done. Then…

Only then can he leave again.

Angling his head, he rakes a hand through his pale hair. Still glowering. Growling. But I can tell from how his shoulders tense and then relax that he’s sated, for now. I paid the toll for another day. He will stay. To get me to my desired destination, he will stay.

“I’ll get dressed,” I say, scrambling upright. Only my knees don’t work right. My legs threaten to collapse beneath me, and then they do, pitching me to the hard floor.

But I don’t fall, because Caspian comes from nowhere to catch me, arm hooked around my waist, body pressed tightly to his.

He hisses in annoyance. He inhales with greed.

I shiver. It feels so wrong to be in his embrace. Wrong because I crave it. I don’t endure his touch like I would Day’s wandering glances and accidental touches. Contact wasn’t needed with him. Wanted?

With Caspian there is only want. Only need. Only hungry, vicious feelings.

“You’ll get dressed,” he grates out, teeth clenched, icy breath on my shoulder. “I’ll get you dressed.”

He takes me into that closet bathroom and sets me on the end of the basin Colleen helped me wash in. A sink, she called it. He stares at the empty basin. I reach behind me and turn one of the round knobs meant to trigger a flow of running water.

Like magic. Only it isn’t magic. Mortals have their own ways of making the world conform to their will. Like by conjuring light to illuminate their homes with, via stagnant, tiny bulbs that glow. Each room is flooded with warmth that creeps through the walls and foundation.

Most intriguing of all are their mirrors. They show the world reflected back as it truly is. In this moment, I can see Caspian from the corner of my eye: looming over me, watching me. His jaw is clenched, gaze reluctant.

He watches me like he could stare for a century. An eternity of gazing at me in silence.

But never, not once, would I ever be able to know what he is thinking.